


I don't know you anymore

by bev_crusher1971



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Sex, Scratching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2181795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bev_crusher1971/pseuds/bev_crusher1971
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hunter and the werewolf. Once they had been lovers, back then before the Hale house fire. </p><p>Can they go on where they left off so many years ago?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't know you anymore

**Author's Note:**

> A big Thank you goes again to my Simone (who meanwhile also has an AO3 account, only I'm too stupid to insert her name correctly ;) ). 
> 
> She has an impeccable eye for detail and fixed more than one little bug in this story. *hugs*
> 
> Okay ... to be honest: it's the least she can do for she's responsible for 3/4 of the bunnies that are hopping around on my desk. ;-)

He was laying next to him, watching him sleep. 

His blue eyes slid over the familiar form of his lover, and for a moment he was tempted to touch him. But he knew that even a slight change in his breathing would inevitably wake his werewolf. It was something that he remembered from their time together. It had been amazing back then. Sometimes he'd been sure that he only had to *think* loud and his lover would wake up, and they would continue where they had stopped a little time ago. Which was basically fucking each other silly. Though the werewolf-part hadn't been known to him when they had met for the first time. Thinking about it later had explained a lot, though. 

Chris Argent stared at Peter Hale who snored softly into his pillow, and with an almost tender smile, he remembered their first time. Kate had been in town, and had asked him to drive her to the Hale house. Back then he hadn't known that she had set her eyes on the youngest Hale, Derek, who had been barely seventeen at that time. He had believed her when she had told him that she wanted to get a little more acquainted with the enemy. 

That's what she had called them all back then: the enemies. 

Peter had come to town a few days earlier, had set up residence at the Hale house, and Chris had thought that the young man with the dark hair and the amazingly blue eyes had only been a family friend. 

His mind wandered back to the first time he met the meanwhile infamous Peter Hale. 

He'd been just leaving a diner when he'd literally bumped into a young man with dark brown hair, and sparkling blue eyes. Strong hands had gripped his arms to keep him from tumbling over and creating a mini-puppy-pile in the middle of a boardwalk. 

“Whoa, hey there, man, slowly,” the young man had said, and Chris could hear the barely suppressed laughter. 

He had to smile himself. “I'm sorry. Normally, I'm not so clumsy.”

They'd managed to remain upright, and finally they'd been standing face to face, half a step apart. The young man had reached out his hand. “Hi, I'm Peter.” 

“Chris,” he'd replied, not knowing why he only told his first name. There had been something about that young man that'd made the hairs in his neck stand up. And not in a bad way. 

A little awkward, Peter had rubbed his neck with one hand, and had said, “Listen, I'm sorry for almost running you over. Think I can make it up to you? Buy you a drink? Or dinner?”

For a moment, Chris had been stunned. Was this guy coming on to him? And without knowing exactly why, he had agreed. 

The rest – as they like to say – was history.

For Peter Hale, shagging a hunter had been an adventure. 

For him, Chris, Peter had been a lover. A young, curious, experimental lover. They had talked about everything and nothing. Had spent days and nights together. Later on he wondered if his wife had ever suspected something or if she had simply believed him when he had told her that he had to pull yet another all-nighter to try and find the werewolf lair. 

He hadn't known that Peter had been Talia's brother, Derek's uncle, and therefore a werewolf. Kate had gleefully told him, after laying fire to the Hale house, burning it down, and killing most of its inhabitants. 

Killing Peter. 

Or so he had thought. For days afterward he had felt empty inside. Had felt deeply hurt and betrayed. 

From his own sister who had known all the time that 'his' Peter was a Hale. Was a werewolf. 

From the man he had thought to love. 

After the fire, they'd moved away from Beacon Hills. Victoria had always thought, that he felt guilty. It had been his own sister after all who had burnt down the Hale house. 

Coming back to Beacon Hills though had been easier as he had imagined. Victoria had been convinced that it had been necessary to stop the werewolf killing that was most definitely going on in this town. 

And then – all of a sudden – Peter had been alive again. Only - he hadn't been dead in the first place. Just heavily burned. Locked up somewhere in his own head. Unable to communicate with his surroundings. But something had broken through this mental barrier. Had managed to wake him up again. 

And so, after almost a decade, Chris had finally been able again to look into those blue eyes that had captured him from the first moment. 

Now here they were. Sated and contend. But something had changed. 

They had changed. 

But then … who wouldn't change in nearly ten years. But there was more. Peter had changed to something darker. Even without moving, Chris could feel the deep scratches on his back. Knew that he would feel this night the next few days every time he sat down. Knew that he would have to wear a scarf to hide the big bite that blossomed at his neck. 

Involuntarily he sighed and immediately Peter's eyes snapped open. 

Chris tried to smile, tried to show this man that he once loved that he was not the enemy anymore. That now, after all the deaths they've been through, could finally be honest to each other. 

But before he could open his mouth, Peter was on him again, pressed him back into the cushions, back onto his scratches, making him feel each and every one of them. He groaned, not purely in pleasure, but that seemed to turn the younger man even more on. Chris tried to get the upper hand, tried to roll him around but he had no chance against the werewolf strength of his lover. 

Gasping, he finally gave up, shuddered slightly when a wet tongue licked over the dark bruise on his neck, when nails – just slightly longer and sharper than humans – trailed over his exposed stomach. 

And he got hard. So hard. Could feel the smirk against his mouth as Peter kissed him, a gentle kiss which was an odd contrast to the rough treatment from before. 

“I want you,” Peter murmured, kissing his way down his neck to his nipples, and Chris hissed in barely concealed pain when he bit down on one. For a moment he was afraid that this time the wolf finally would have drawn blood, but when he looked down at himself, panting, he saw that there was only another bruise. 

All the time, the hand on his cock didn't stop in his ministrations, stroking him with just the right amount of pressure in just the right tempo. Then a hot mouth closed over his erection, and helplessly, Chris let his head drop back down onto the pillow, moaning, gasping. 

It didn't take him long to come. Mostly, because in their earlier sex-romp only Peter had been allowed to come. With a knowing grip, he had held Chris' cock so tight that he had been unable to shoot. This time he did, though. He came with a shout, and shot his load into Peter's waiting mouth who swallowed it all with sound close to a purr. 

Breathing harshly, Chris stared at the ceiling, and when Peter moved up to him, to gather him in his arms, and kiss him tenderly, murmuring sweet words into his mouth, taking the strain from his hurting back, there was again this confusing mix between hard and soft that hadn't been there ten years ago. 

One final kiss, and Peter let go of him, sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. Chris watched him with slightly narrowed eyes. 

“You should go,” Peter said suddenly, and Chris closed his eyes. He was so tired of their games. 

“Why?” he asked back nonetheless, slowly sitting up, reaching for his shirt that lay half – forgotten at the end of the bed. 

“I don't know anymore how to be what you need,” Peter murmured quietly, with his back still to Chris. 

It hurt. 

It hurt so much, yet after everything that happened, not only between the two of them but the whole city, this shouldn't have come as a surprise. He dressed quietly, and when he sat down on the bed to put on his shoes, Peter sprawled himself nonchalantly over the bed. 

For a moment Chris was tempted to touch him one last time but then he saw the cold eyes, the calculating smile, and he simply got up, threw a “See you around, Hale!” over his shoulder, and left the apartment. 

The end

**Author's Note:**

> After posting "Water under Bridges that have already burned" someone asked "Could you do a fic in which they come together?". 
> 
> Well, let's be honest: Peter is definitely not the fluffy, handholding, sunsetwatching kind of guy so this was the best I could do. 
> 
> I hope you like it anyway.


End file.
